Perhaps I don't still hate the Beach.

Ginkgo Shoulderette Shawl

Off the needles: the Ginkgo in Birthday yarn! Shepherd Sock in the Intrigue colourway, from The Loopy Ewe. I used about 400 of the 435 available, making the large size and plan to throw away the pattern and never knit it again! The last 33 rows made me seriously think about just ripping the entire thing out and knitting something else. It was just not my flavour of lace. In order to get the dramatic curves there was a lot of decreasing against the grain. Tedious. Very tedious. But I think the shawl and the colourway are a perfect match for each other and look forward to wearing this often.




About the title.  Friends who lurve the beach were teasing me about my disdain for it.  Was it the sand? The wind? What? And it's some of those things, but mostly it's the loneliness. This provoked much merriment, but made me wonder where the answer came from.  And in thinking on it, I found my answer. 
When I was very young and still lived with my Mother she used to live for the days she was off work and could go deep sea fishing.  I was an unfortunate child for her to be blessed with, as the mere thought of a boat induces mal de mer.  Simple solution?  Drop me at the beach for the day.  Usually before dawn, and pick me up sometime after dark.  And there...there is my hatred of beaches.  A child under ten with no money, no lunch, and no idea when-if-someone will come get them.  The mornings were nice, I always knew it would be hours, so I would play on the swings and such, knowing no one would be looking for me.  But then, the day would get hot, I would be hungry, and I would start to haunt the "boring" end of the beach because woe unto the child who was not waiting at the seawall when Mother pulled up.   And there were a couple of occasions where they forgot me until after they'd been out drinking for hours, gone home, and no kid.  Oops.  
So beaches make me think of being alone and no one ever coming.  Which is silly, because decades later I'd get in a taxi and kick the arse of anyone who stood me up at the beach like that.  After I ate lunch, of course.  Better yet: I'd drive so I could leave whenever I wanted. 


What the heck does this have to do with shawls? Nothing. Everything.  It has to do with having a life so rich that episodes like that don't twist you into someone bitter.  With having good friends.  Fabulous friends.  Friends that when disaster strikes send yarn from your favourite yarn store.  It's all tied in with courage and fear, and the knowledge that in my life today: someone will come eventually if I just ask.